Fool Me Once
by Marina2319
Summary: Not all heroes get remembered, not all heroes are good people-not all villains are bad people, and not all villains get forgotten. The world isn't black and white, and that's always the hardest pill to swallow. Follow an assortment of characters as they survive in this cesspool of despair; or, perhaps more accurately, follow a ragtag group of fuckers just trying to do their best.
1. Chapter 1

It's good to know that no matter how badly you fuck up, there is _always _going to be someone who fucked up worse than you—and, to some people, this is seen as a challenge. Perhaps an unintentionally accepted challenge, but an accepted challenge nonetheless. Sometimes it's fun to be a loser, and to young Rumi Chouju it was a welcome reprieve from trying too hard. Of course, it's not the best feeling in the world to be the absolute _worst_ at something—and even Rumi could admit that—but, still, it's better than taking yourself too seriously, even when you have goals and aspirations and all that corny bullshit.

One month prior, Rumi had applied to U.A. High School, the top hero school in Japan—and arguably the world—in hopes that she could join the prestigious Hero Course. Did she get in? No, no she did not. General Studies would have to do.

Two years prior, Rumi had begun training so that she could get into the aforementioned Hero Course by working as a lackey for a local construction group and running in circles for five hours a day on weekends. Did she get stronger? Of course, but it wasn't like she was going to throw hands with Arnold Schwarzenegger anytime soon.

And—most importantly—six years prior, Rumi had confidently shouted out an answer to a question, only to be so incorrect that the damage done to her pride was damn-near unfixable. It happens to the best of us—which is a lie, but hey, it sounds nicer than saying that everyone is an idiot and we all fuck up. And did she get it over it? Hell no.

Regardless, life is full of mistakes, but that's okay because sometimes those mistakes aren't your fault. Oh yeah, and this is the story of how Rumi Chouju became a delightfully average Hero, even though the people around her all thought that she would be mediocre at best. Sometimes you have to settle for what little spite you can get.

* * *

Waking up is a chore and Rumi is a 12-year-old going through a rebellious phase. The shrill scream of the alarm slacked off in the terror-department _just _enough to startle and not kill, but that doesn't mean that her soul didn't try to prematurely sign itself into the afterlife because it mistakenly thought, "Well, that must've done it." It's always a surprise when you wake up instead of die of shock, isn't it?

Not quite having hit the "realization stage" of waking up, Rumi's head popped off her pillow while she frantically patted herself down to confirm that she was not, in fact, dead. Once thoroughly convinced, she scowled at the alarm clock with that blank sense of morning anger that hasn't yet manifested completely, pledging vengeance against the clock and its descendants. She hated the damn thing, ye olde twin bell clock, but it was the only thing that woke her up in the morning that didn't require her mom to start banging pots and pans together at the foot of her bed.

Drowsy and delirious, she reluctantly swung her legs over the edge of the bed, sitting for a moment longer before stepping onto the carpet. Her back arched as she yawned deeply, her hands reaching towards the ceiling as she forced herself to begin walking towards the door. Once she made it to the bathroom, she took a hot shower and got dressed in her school uniform—a gray blazer over a white polo with a red tie resting in the center of her chest, as well as a navy skirt that brushed her knees and thigh-high stockings with penny loafers. Snazzy. Afterwards, she made sure her bag was packed, plants were watered, and desk was mostly put-together before walking downstairs; her mom greeted her from the kitchen counter that overlooked the stair railing. She smiled through tired eyes, the lines on her face becoming more defined.

"Good morning, Rumi," she said, sliding her a plate of waffles from across the counter. "How'd you sleep?" She leaned against the false granite, her straight auburn hair falling in front of her hazel eyes.

Rumi sat down on the stool with a thud, letting her bag drop beside her. "Meh, can't complain—I fell asleep around 11:30, so I shouldn't be tired for too much longer," she said drowsily, sneaking a peak at the oven clock behind her mother to check the time, which was a crisp 6:30, also known as way-too-fucking-early. She groaned to herself and took a bite of the syrupy concoction.

Her mom snorted quietly, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards a sliver as she mumbled, "Careful, Rumi, your self-awareness is showing." With that, she turned around to make herself some coffee. Rumi smirked to herself while she downed the meal.

Once she finished, she took the plate to the sink, rinsed it off, picked up her bag, and walked to the door. "I'm out, Mom," Rumi called, the sleep still heavy in her voice.

"Wait!" her mom said, rushing over to her before throwing her arms around Rumi's shoulders, planting a kiss on her cheek, and taking a step back to look at her. Without warning, she ruffled Rumi's long and wavy brown hair, pushing her side-swept bangs behind her ear. "Have a nice day at school," she said with a wistful smile.

Rumi grinned, her brows furrowing slightly as she retorted, "Easy for you to say, you don't have to sit in a chair for eight hours!"

Chuckling to herself, her mom said, "No, I guess not." After the moment had ended, Rumi walked out the front door, waving to her mom as she closed it behind her.

The morning air hit like a slap in the face, no matter how refreshing—the cold bite mixed with the sunrise was enough to wake her up, however, so that was nice. It had been a month since school began, and, despite being thrilled to get in, she couldn't help but be disappointed that she didn't get into the Hero Course. Obviously, they couldn't accept _everyone_, but it still rubbed her the wrong way, especially since she had been working so hard to get in. It was frustrating, but, even so, getting in was an achievement and she wasn't going to turn down the opportunity because she didn't get into the course she wanted. And besides, what alternative did she have? Exactly, nothing—it was U.A. or bust.

Having been placed in General Studies, she'd have to get used to being an outsider to the Hero Course. Unfortunately, no one had noticed her potential, no one had dropped, and—quite possibly the most disappointing—no one had begged her to take their spot. Bummer, but you can't get everything, can you? Rumi would just have to become a Pro Hero _without _being in the Hero Course—you know, the same Hero Course that churned out the number one Pro Hero, All Might, and so must obviously be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but, alas, it's not like _everyone_ went there, just the best of the best. Rumi physically sighed at the thought before straightening her posture with determination; afterall, it's not like it's impossible, it's just very, very hard.

Can you tell that she's still a little salty?

The commute to school wasn't all that interesting either. Her house—or, more accurately, her mom's house—was located on a single-street-suburbia with quasi-cookie-cutter houses stacked next to each other. Sure, there was space between them, but only just—they branched off into the next string of houses, and then the next, and the next, and so on for what felt like infinity but hadn't been checked by Rumi because she did not care enough to find out. Plus, the uncertainty was kind of thrilling. Was it infinite? Maybe. Schrodinger's Houses. Of course, all she really needed to know was that down the street a couple of blocks was a bus stop that would take her to the train station which would then take her to another bus stop from where she would then walk uphill to reach the campus. Simple. It took about an hour every morning just to get there, but, alas, she _did _technically ask for it by applying and subsequently accepting the acceptance (but what a power move it would have been to get accepted and then _not_ go?).

And that's exactly what happened—silently walking down the sidewalk to the bus stop, waiting a couple of minutes for the bus to arrive before hopping on, riding down to the train station to then scurry onto the train heading into the city, and from there sitting for half an hour doing nothing, and then getting off and walking over to school, still doing nothing. At first, she always had a grin on her face—though perhaps not always of her own free will, but still smiling nonetheless—but as the days wore on and she realized that she really _wasn't _in the Hero Course, her countenance began to slip until she looked like everyone else, and not like the kid who just got accepted into her dream school. It almost became less of a dream.

Once at school, she walked into the homeroom for class 1-C and sat down in her seat. She always preferred to sit in the front row because she was too short to see over most of her classmates—as such, she got the spot directly in front of the teacher's desk on the left-hand side of the classroom, one row away from the window and two rows away from the door. While waiting for class to begin, Rumi clicked her pen absentmindedly, looking up at the chalkboard and breathing deeply until she got bored enough to take out her notebook and doodle. Her long hair draped loosely over her shoulders and fell onto her paper as she drew her patterns, the dark waves forming a curtain separating her from her classmates—until, that is, her friends finally decided to show up.

Rumi glanced up from her mindless doodles and immediately broke into a wide grin, waving at her two friends as they stepped inside the classroom. The boy of average height with short, light hair and dark colored eyes stood out between the two since he rolled up his sleeves and left the top button of his polo undone—his name was Kinaru Nochinochi, and the girl with jet-black hair and a nervous disposition standing beside him was called Yasumi Zenni, and together the three of them formed a small friend-group so none of them had to sit alone at lunch. It was a solid deal, plus they all enjoyed each other's company, so it's not like it was forced too heavily upon them. Beside Rumi, Yasumi took the seat next to the window while Kinaru sat directly behind Rumi. Twisting in her chair, she started up a small conversation.

"Hey, guys," she said, grinning softly with wide eyes.

"Yo," said Kinaru simply, raising his hand to give the peace sign as Yasumi said, "Hello, Chouju," with a quiet voice.

"Hey, did you remember to do the homework?" Yasumi asked, leaning over her desk to look at them with heavy-lidded eyes. "I fell asleep early last night and didn't get it done," she said while stifling a yawn.

"Yeah, I have it right here," Rumi said, reaching into her bag to pull out the assignment. As she handed it to her friend, she asked, "How early did you fall asleep?"

"Ummm," she droned, taking the notebook with a lethargic movement. "I think it was seven." In response to Rumi's incredulous stare, she clarified with, "Seven P.M., Chouju, don't worry."

Rumi sighed, trying not to seem surprised—Yasumi slept like a rock, and she did so at any place and at any time. She was astonished that she didn't fall asleep in class all that often.

"Wow, imagine sleeping—I stayed up until two A.M. playing the new _Anima _game and I feel _so_ energized," Kinaru added, pulling out his books as he spoke.

"Geez, that should be illegal. I went to bed at eleven—which is, by the way, considered normal—and I still felt like I didn't sleep at all until about ten minutes ago," Rumi said, resting her cheek against her hand. Once Yasumi had taken quick note of the answers, she passed the notebook back to Rumi.

"Thanks, Chouju, you're a lifesaver," Yasumi whispered.

"No problem, my guy," Rumi replied. It took half a second for her to realize that they were both staring at her. "What?" she asked, shrugging.

"God, sorry, you're just _so_ American," Kinaru said, stifling laughter. Yasumi nodded heavily.

Rumi pursed her lips, trying not to laugh at those allegations—afterall, they were true. She was, in fact, American. She grinned smugly before saying, "Well, as the resident American, please call me by my first name, Rumi."

The two of them watched her indignantly.

"Sorry, Chouju, but we have to have gone on at least three dates before I'll call you by your first name," Kinaru joked, Yasumi nodding along. Rumi shrugged, laughing it off.

* * *

After what felt like days, lunch was finally upon the triad, and they accepted the break with tired glee. The three of them had been sitting together since the first week of school, which was about when they realized that none of them had anyone to sit with—so, why not sit alone together? It helped that they had the same sense of humor, which mostly consisted of laughing too hard at their own jokes and saying _ridiculously_ uncalled-for puns. While they didn't share Rumi's determination to be a hero, they got along well just the same.

"Okay, but you have to at _least_ agree with me that necromancers are just doctors for dead people," Kinaru reasoned exasperatedly. He looked from Rumi to Yasumi expectantly, gesturing frantically with a wild stare.

"But," Yasumi began, "That kinda goes against what a doctor _is_—if a necromancer can just _be_ a doctor, then what makes a doctor a doctor? Doctors work on living people, not dead people, so a necromancer should be in its own category like how a vet is different from a doctor, or a nurse, or a surgeon."

"I gotta agree with you there," Rumi added, nodding as she spoke, "Because, like, if a necromancer is a doctor, then that implies that death is something that can be cured."

"But it _is_—"

"Mm-mm, nope," Yasumi mumbled, Rumi shaking her head along with her. "Death is a state of being but being sick is an aspect of being alive."

Rumi pointed to Yasumi as she took a bite of curry. "That's terrifying, thanks for sharing."

"Alright, so if necromancers aren't doctors…" Kinaru began, gesturing once more, "Then does that mean that you need a necromancy license?" At that, the two girls paused, staring at him blankly; he clapped his hands, a look of triumph lighting his features. "Finally! I got you there!" Rumi and Yasumi shrugged and nodded, admitting defeat.

"Yeah, we'll give you this win," Yasumi said as she picked up her plate and walked over to the trashcan to throw away her leftovers.

"Okay, but what if…" Rumi began, elbows on the table as she leaned forward towards Kinaru, "…Necromancers don't have a license, but only because in order to be one they must have their doctor's license revoked?"

The two shrugged, arms in the air as they gestured wildly at each other as Yasumi came back over and sat down. Out of nowhere, the two felt sluggish and drowsy, eyes starting to droop heavily—until Rumi poked Yasumi in the shoulder, jolting her out of her stupor.

"Tired much?" Rumi joked, stifling a yawn.

"Yeah, sorry," Yasumi apologized, stretching and urging herself to wake up.

"No, don't apologize—I could use a nap right about now," Kinaru admitted, scratching his head.

"Petition to bring back naps," Rumi mumbled as she rubbed her eyes.

"Fuck, you've got my signature…"

* * *

For the rest of the day, Rumi sat at her desk and took notes while occasionally swapping glances with Yasumi. Once the school day was over, she walked with lethargy the same route she took to get to school that morning. The walk back down her street was a pretty sight, but the direction of her commute meant that in the morning the sun was in her eyes, and at the end of the day the sun was _also _in her eyes. Basically, she regularly almost went blind, which would completely ruin her ability to become a Pro Hero, but, alas, she liked to live on the edge.

Entering the house with a flourish only possible when nihilism has completely set in, Rumi shouted at the top of her lungs, "'Sup, Mom!" while taking off her shoes at the door.

There wasn't a response, so Rumi glanced over the den and found her mother, Florence Sibley-Chouju, sitting on the couch. She took tentative steps over towards her, seeing she had passed out on the couch with a bottle near her hand. Sighing to herself, Rumi picked up the drink and put it away in the kitchen, leaving her mom alone on the couch as she walked upstairs to her room. She threw her bag against the foot of her bed and face-planted into her comforter. Rolling over, she stared blankly up at the ceiling, hands folded on her chest.

"_Something needs to happen _real _soon or else I might die of boredom,_" Rumi thought to herself, holding her hand above her face and looking at her palm. She watched as the gelatinous paint began to form against her skin, flinching when a glob of the stuff fell on her face, splattering anticlimactically; she pursed her lips while squeezing her hand. Sitting up, she pulled a cloth out of her pocket and wiped her hand and face before taking off her blazer and tossing it beside her.

After sitting in silence for a moment, Rumi decided to do her homework, grab a snack, and then lie in bed for a few hours doing nothing before falling asleep, only to repeat the cycle again tomorrow, and then the next day, and the next, and the next…

* * *

The next morning was—surprise!—the exact same as yesterday. Except it wasn't, at least not exactly. For example, Florence was hungover, so no waffles that morning, and Rumi actually got to see her uncle for the first time in a few days, so, yay? All of that was standard, however, until she reached the train headed for the city. After having taken the same route for a month, it was kind of difficult not to notice her surroundings. Despite her aloof demeanor, she _had_ noticed something interesting—according to her completely non-creepy research, she was fairly certain that she took the same route as a member of her class, and by fairly certain I mean she was completely certain but wanted to remain humble about her findings.

Sitting across from her on the train that morning was a tall kid with purple hair—which was kind of hard to miss—whom she had never spoken to before in her life. He just sat there on his smartphone, doing nothing and looking tired as hell for the entire thirty-minute commute. On the off-chance that he'd glance up and see Rumi conducting research, she had her flip-phone out in front of her and Galaga loaded up just in case. Of course, he didn't look up often—in fact, he didn't do _anything_ often. She only ever saw him walk to and from classes, and while they were on the train, he was exclusively on his phone listening to music or looking out the window. Rumi convinced herself that she wasn't being creepy before she gave in to her carnal desire and played a few rounds of Galaga.

Once at U.A., she followed the same drab routine, except this time she managed to convince herself to very subtly scan the classroom to confirm if he did, in fact, attend the same classes as she did. Very inconspicuously, she yawned and stretched, leaning backwards in her chair while searching the room through squinted eyes to find where he sat—and, lo and behold, he sat two rows down in the second seat from the back. He also saw her, so she immediately returned to her regular sitting position, adrenaline pumping, and realized that to her luck Kinaru and Yasumi had just showed up. She waved at them excitedly, willing herself to forget what she had experienced.

At last, the end of the day was steadily approaching, and Rumi had a decision to make—will she try to strike up a conversation, or will she ignore the indirect confrontation from earlier and hope to never speak to him in her life? Decisions, decisions.

As she sat at her desk, eyes forced down at her paper, she doodled geometric shapes and shadows while completely ignoring the lecture happening in front of her. Occasionally she looked up from her doodles to feign attention, but it was all a logical ruse. Glancing at her watch, she saw that there were three minutes left of class, and she still hadn't decided what she wanted to do.

Two minutes left of class…

One minute left of class…

Ten seconds left of class…

The bell rang and her peers scurried to put their books and pencils away, Rumi included. Her hair fell in her face and her head screamed at her to get her ass in gear, but it didn't make her move any faster.

"_Shit, I mean, what's the worst that could happen?_" Rumi reasoned to herself before standing up straight and throwing her bag over her shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she turned to look behind her at where he sat, only to find that the desk was empty. Her eyes widened as her eyes darted to the door, catching a quick glimpse of him as he walked out into the hall. Rumi cursed at herself internally using every American swear-word she could remember as she scurried towards the door.

"Wait, Chouju!" Yasumi called. Rumi froze, looking behind her at Yasumi and Kinaru. Yasumi waved slowly as she said, "See you tomorrow," with a drowsy grin on her face.

Rumi flashed a distressed grin and a wave before rushing out the door, trying not to seem out of character.

Scanning the swarm of students fleeing the premises, Rumi finally caught sight of the boy with the poofy hair—plus it was purple, which, like I said, some may consider to be quite hard to miss—and so she pulled her bag straps tighter around her shoulders and wove her way through the crowd, squeezing between loitering friends and bystanders as she chased after him. Finally, the cluster dispersed and she reached him, tapping him on the shoulder before she could convince herself it was a bad idea; he looked over his shoulder, saw no one, and then pointedly looked down at Rumi, her hand still raised awkwardly.

He hummed his question of "what are you doing?" while watching her with a blank expression.

"Uh…" she droned for half a second before snapping back into reality. "Hi! I, uh, noticed that we take the same route to school every day, and I was wondering if I could join you?" As though she had become aware of how odd that question sounded, she began to fidget her fingers and look askance.

The two stood still for what felt like ages until he finally said, "Sure," with a shrug. He turned on his heel to continue walking home.

The relief was the only natural high Rumi needed in her life, and she silently fist-pumped the air as she took quick strides to catch up to walk beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rumi grinning from ear to ear and almost _hopping _with each step.

He squinted his eyes slightly, trying to figure out what kind of alien creature he had managed to pick up. After a moment of silence, he asked, "What made you ask me to walk with you?"

Rumi didn't bat an eye as she said, "I see you go the same route as me every day, so I thought 'I'm alone, he's alone—might as well be alone together.'" Her expression shifted as she quickly looked up and added, "But if you'd rather be alone, that's totally fine! I get it, I just thought that maybe—"

"No, no, it's okay," he reassured, gesturing for her to ease-up a bit. "Honestly, I noticed you too, I just decided not to say anything."

"Oh," she deadpanned, snorting at the silence that followed. "What made you think that? Do I look intimidating?"

At that, he let out a quick bark of laughter, covering his face with his hand immediately afterwards. "Chouju, you are quite possibly the most _unintimidating _person I've ever seen in my life."

She looked away, her face heating at the words—why though? That was a good thing, right? Switching gears, her brows furrowed and a look of incredulousness crossed her face as she said, "Wait, you know my name?"

At that point it was his turn to be confused. "Why wouldn't I? We have pretty much every class together," he said, shrugging. After a pause for silence, he mumbled, "Hold on, don't tell me… you don't know my name, do you?"

Rumi's cheeks reddened further—clearly, she hadn't thought this through enough—and she broke into a nervous sweat as she pursed her lips tightly. "Of-Of course I know your name!" she sputtered, laughing it off awkwardly. "You're…" Rumi looked up at his face, and he watched her blankly, almost impressed at her inability to remember. "You're…" she continued to drone. "You're…" Her eyes squinted up at him, as though wracking her brain took physical effort.

"Do you give up?"

"Yes, yes I do."

He tried not to laugh as he said, "I'm Shinsou Hitoshi, and you're Chouju Rumi—just in case you forgot your name, too."

Rumi grabbed her head in anger, letting out a cry of anguish as she shouted, "Fuck, I _knew_ that, I swear!"

At that, Hitoshi couldn't hold back his laughter as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and slouched forward as the fit made his body convulse. Beside him, Rumi looked away and clutched her forearms tightly while trying not to laugh at her own stupidity. After the fit had died down slightly, Hitoshi said through remaining chuckles, "Damn, you can't fake being _that _oblivious."

"Well, I'm a woman of many talents," Rumi managed to say through her tightened features.

"Yeah, I can tell," Hitoshi responded, the laughing fit having died down enough to speak normally again.

As the two continued walking, a silence fell over them—not quite awkward, but rather a pause for breath.

Breaking the quiet, Rumi said, "So, what do you think of U.A.? Pretty cool, right?" She almost sounded like a little kid with that outlook.

Hitoshi snorted under his breath, his expression dropping a bit. "It's not bad," he said, hands still in his pockets as they walked. Rumi looked up at him, trying to get more information out of him through her silent interrogation techniques—and when he met her stare, it worked. "I mean," he quickly added, avoiding eye-contact, "It's super cool that I got in, and it's a great opportunity, but… it's really frustrating to go to a _Hero _school and not be in the _Hero Course_." He shrugged, gesturing with his hands from within his pockets, shaking his head at himself. "I'm probably just being selfish, but if you really want to achieve your goals then that kind of attitude can be justified."

Rumi looked forward, the conversation having taken a serious turn. After a brief moment of silence, she said, "Yeah, I can understand that. I applied to the Hero Course too, but… well, I obviously didn't get in either." She chuckled at herself, before looking at the ground, brows furrowing as her gaze hardened. "Of course, I'll be dammed if that stops me." She looked up at him, and the two made eye contact as Rumi said, "We can still become heroes, even though we didn't get in. I believe in you, Shinsou."

He paused, watching her silently for a moment before saying, "Thanks, I appreciate it. I believe in you too, even though we just met."

Rumi laughed at that, saying, "Hooray, support!" After a moment of mutual silence, she added, "You know what? I think this is going to be the start of a pretty cash-money friendship."

"How can you tell? Do you have a foresight Quirk, or something?" Hitoshi asked, his deadpan tone returning to his voice.

She shrugged. "No, I just have this feeling. What do you think?"

He pursed his lips and looked at the ground before saying, "I think that you're overstepping your acquaintance-boundaries."

Letting out a bark of laughter, she nudged her elbow into his side while saying, "I am nothing if not overbearing, my dude." Suddenly, Hitoshi stopped walking, so she stopped too.

"This is where I live," he said, nodding towards the house beside him. "It was nice walking with you, though."

"Same here!" Rumi paused for a moment, calling out to him as he began to walk up the steps. "Wait!" He stopped and looked at her. "Do you… do you want to walk together tomorrow?"

He paused, the both of them watching each other silently before he simply said, "Sure."

Rumi beamed before turning around and walking towards her house a few blocks down. She called out, "Cool! See you tomorrow, Shinsou!" as she ran down the sidewalk, absolutely thrilled to have made a new friend. Hitoshi watched her run off, shaking his head at himself before unlocking the front door and disappearing inside.


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning, Rumi popped off her pillow with newfound purpose—the twin-bell alarm clock barely phased her as she slammed her fist against it. Somehow, that seemed to turn it off. Leaping out of bed, she rushed to take a shower and get dressed so that she could walk to school with her ~_new friend_~ Hitoshi Shinsou.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she noticed her wide grin had returned. She paused, remembering how she had looked this way last month, until the monotony of being alive had reclaimed her. And then she pursed her lips with resolve and forced that shit _way_ down, forgetting her self-awareness through sheer force-of-will.

Once at the foot of the stairs, her mom, Florence, walked over to her with her hands raised and a restless expression on her face. "Please be quieter, Rumi, Rob is sleeping," she chided, walking alongside her as she headed into the kitchen.

"Sorry," Rumi hissed under her breath, raising her shoulders and grimacing theatrically before grabbing herself a pop tart and easing it into the microwave. "…But isn't he always asleep right now?" she asked, opening the microwave door before the alarm could sound.

"Yes, but he got back late last night," Florence explained, the vagueness irking Rumi only slightly.

Without carrying on the conversation, Rumi sat down on the barstool and ate her breakfast in silence. Once she had finished the wholesome and complete breakfast, she picked up her bag and walked to the door. She turned around, saying, "Bye, Mom," with a quick wave. Florence returned the gesture as Rumi closed the door and began walking down the sidewalk once more.

As she walked down the familiar path, her aloof countenance settled on her features once more until she passed Hitoshi's front door—fortunately, she didn't have to knock for him because he was sitting on the porch. He looked up at her and waved once; she flashed him a wide grin, her excitement returning just as quickly as it had left. As the two walked, Hitoshi stayed silent, simply looking forward through half-lidded eyes as they headed to the bus stop. Rumi wanted desperately to say something, but small talk was generally frowned upon in situations like this—or so she'd heard.

However, Rumi didn't usually listen to "social queues" or "appealing to her audience," so she decided to say something anyway—or, perhaps more accurately, she decided to go in for the kill.

"You look like I haven't seen you in a year and you didn't sleep at all during that time," she stated, looking up at him with wide, clear eyes. When he looked back at her, she remembered why it usually served to "read the atmosphere" before speaking; he didn't even make a face, he just _looked _at her and it was enough to get the message across—or rather, the dark lines under his eyes got the message across. "So, um, could you just not sleep, or is this normal for you?"

"This is normal for me," he said, looking forward once more.

If their conversation yesterday hadn't gone so well, Rumi would've been inclined to think that she was bothering him; however, she figured that it was just a "seven in the morning" thing and not an "I want to break your spine in half" thing.

Then Rumi did the unthinkable: nothing. She did nothing but sit on the bus and then the train and play Galaga on her phone, their only interaction being his occasional glance at her score and a brief consolation when she died. Other than that, silence. Pure, unadulterated silence. But it would not last the whole day…

Once they had arrived on campus and walked into homeroom, Hitoshi turned to get to his desk—as per usual—but was interrupted when Rumi grazed his arm with her fist, smiled, and said, "see ya later," before walking to her desk and sitting down. He watched her with a contemplative expression before finally taking his seat.

At her desk, Rumi pulled out a notebook and a pencil and began her daily doodling ritual while waiting for Yasumi and Kinaru to arrive. They seemed to take forever this morning, or maybe Rumi was just worried about her earlier encounter? No—she wasn't about to let herself ruminate and doubt every action from the past hour, so she forced herself to forget her nerves and draw absentmindedly.

Finally, they decided to show themselves; as they walked in, Rumi grimaced at their exhausted demeanors as they fell into their seats. Turning in her chair, she asked them, "What happened? You two look awful…"

"Oh, nothing, except…" Kinaru droned, lacing his words with drama and theatrics, "I finished the _Anima _game and spent the whole night crying over the ending. It was awesome."

"Nice, nice," Rumi said, nodding before turning to Yasumi. "And how about you?"

"'Nochi woke me up at four A.M. and sent me pictures of puppies so he'd have a crying buddy," she explained, wiping her eyes on her sleeve before face-planting into the desk.

Kinaru shrugged. "You gotta do what you gotta do."

Rumi pursed her lips and watched them fester in their poor decisions before turning to face the front. At that moment, the door was thrown open with a flourish only capable at such an ungodly hour by someone with a liberal-arts flavored confidence. Mm, tastes like unemployment.

"Heeeeeeeello, students!" chimed their homeroom teacher, Miss Kora Lia, as she stepped inside. She was too happy for this early in the morning, her bubblegum-pink curls bouncing on her shoulders as she set her folders and papers on the desk. The students watched her vacantly. Turning to the chalkboard, she continued to talk in a bubbly fashion while she wrote the date in front of them—Friday April 22, 2016.

As she did so, one of her students, Kouji Sohai, leaned forward to his friend and whispered something that not even the kids next to them could decipher.

"What was that, Mister Sohai?" Miss Kora Lia asked, turning around swiftly with a wide grin stretched across her face. Kouji made eye contact with her, sitting stark still—the chalk in her fingers snapped. Holding eye contact as though challenging him, she effortlessly finished writing her statement on the board behind her with the piece in her hand.

_Kora Lia—Quirk: Hindsight! She can see out of the back of her head, but no one is 100% sure how…_

Everyone, having been thoroughly put in their place, sat silently as she began to speak, giving them information about upcoming events and assignments and lecturing them before the school day fully began.

* * *

The brief respite that lunch provided could never be enough to heal their mental wounds, and it also could never stop them from being overdramatic. As Rumi, Yasumi, and Kinaru walked towards their usual table to eat their meal, the drowsiness was damn-near tangible. Out of the corner of her drooping eyes, Rumi noticed something that knocked her from her stupor—her dear friend, Hitoshi Shinsou, was sitting alone at an uninhabited table. Her expression contorted as she glanced from Yasumi to Kinaru and back to Hitoshi; pursing her lips determinedly, she set down her plate beside Yasumi, uttered a quick "be right back," and speed-walked over to him.

Tapping the table, he looked up at her, halfway through a bite of udon-noodles. Yet again, he mumbled a wordless question of "what is it now?" while slurping loudly, maintaining eye-contact.

"Hey!" she said, fluttering her hand before jabbing her thumb behind her, "Wanna come sit with us?"

Once he finished dragging out the moment, he stood up and said, "Sure," while picking up his tray and following her.

"_That must be his favorite word,"_ she thought, not even entertaining the idea that she was annoying. If she was bothering him, he could just tell her.

"Hey, guys," Rumi began, taking her seat next to Yasumi, "I brought a friend to sit with us today," she said, gesturing up to Hitoshi as he stood in a collected manner.

Hitoshi looked at her sideways at the mention of the f-bomb, but he decided not to mention it. Instead, he said, "Yeah, I've been taken hostage and she won't leave me alone until we're friends."

Rumi cackled—almost too loudly—and slammed her fist against the table. "Geez, what a jokester!" she said through bouts of laughter. Upon realized that she was the only one who found it funny, she grew silent, shrugged, and asked, "What? Is something wrong?"

Kinaru gawked at her, leaning over the table to hiss, "Chouju, you do know who that is, right?"

Watching him with wide eyes and pursed lips, Kinaru finally figured out which dumbass had been bringing down the class average lately. "That's Shinsou Hitoshi,_ obviously_." She gave Hitoshi a thumbs up, and he said nothing.

"Oh my god, do you seriously not know? Even Zenni knows!"

Yasumi shrugged, nearly face-planting into her meal from fatigue.

"No offense, but standing here is awkward—can I go now?" Hitoshi asked, looking directly at Rumi without any clear expression.

At that, her countenance fell, a wounded disposition etched into her features before she said, "No, wait—sit down, Shinsou," while pointing to the seat next to Kinaru. The two looked at each other before Kinaru wordlessly moved his plate closer to him and Hitoshi sat down, looking at the floor. "It's kind of rude to reject someone like that, 'Nochi," Rumi chided, brows furrowed. Kinaru simply exhaled intensely.

"Dude, you don't even know what you're talking about," he said, refusing to look at Hitoshi.

"Is this seriously because of my Quirk?" Hitoshi asked, looking directly at Kinaru with a blank expression.

He didn't say anything, but rather gripped his pants tightly and clinched his jaw shut.

"What about your Quirk?" Rumi asked Hitoshi, shrugging.

"Listen," Kinaru said, leaning over the table to point an accusatory finger at her, "I know you zone-out a lot, but you should at least remember your classmates' Quirks. Don't you want to be a Hero? You gotta keep up with this stuff, Chouju."

Hitoshi looked up, his interest piqued as he asked her, "You want to be a Hero?"

"Yeah, it's my dream," she admitted, running the chopsticks between her fingers. Shrugging, she said through a sheepish grin, "I know I'm unintimidating—to use your words—and my Quirk is kinda shitty, but sometimes… sometimes you can't choose what you want, you know?"

He blinked once. "Yeah, I guess so."

Finally, Kinaru whispered to Hitoshi, "Are you… not gonna use it on us?"

"I might on you."

"That's rude."

And with that, Kinaru's eyes glazed over and he looked at Hitoshi with a slack-jawed expression. Rumi nearly choked on her sip of water, but Yasumi did nothing except wake up.

"That's my Quirk that he was so worried about," Hitoshi deadpanned before Kinaru's eyes flashed back to normal with a jolt. "It only happens if I want it to, though, and I _really _wanted you to stop talking."

Rumi snorted with laughter, pressing her lips together to keep her from laughing too loudly before she mumbled, "Is your Quirk called _Silence, Thot_?"

At that, Hitoshi looked down, a weak smile forcing its way onto his lips as he tried to fight back against the chuckles rising in his throat. Beside her, Yasumi giggled and Kinaru stared at them in disbelief, cheeks flushed.

"I'm not a thot, Chouju!"

"Exactly what a thot would say, ho-bag," Yasumi muttered.

"Heh, nasty little slut~," Rumi taunted.

Hitoshi coughed beside them, gripping his knee under the table and avoiding eye-contact like his life depended on it.

"So!" Rumi suddenly said, turning her attention to Hitoshi again. "Since we know your Quirk, it's only fair if you know ours, too!" She seemed a little too excited. "This is Zenni Yasumi, and she can make people feel sad or whatever, but it works best when she's tired—"

"I have spores, basically," Yasumi interjected, "And the sleepy ones are the most potent, is what she's trying to say."

"—And Nochinochi Kinaru over there can go really fast, but he gets motion sickness so it's kind of useless—"

"It's called _fast-forward _and it _hurts _to use it too much," he corrected, his blush deepening on his puffed cheeks.

"—And I'm Chouju Rumi, in case you forgot. My hands secrete this weird paste-like thing, and when I look at someone using their Quirk then my goo takes on the properties of that Quirk. It also burns like hell if you get it in your eyes. Oh, and I need to be hydrated to use it. Oh, and—"

"That's enough, Chouju," Yasumi interrupted, patting Rumi on the shoulder. "He knows not to get in a fight with you and your god-tier Quirk."

With that, Kinaru's lips tugged down as he muttered, "_Anima_ was a god-tier game," before clenching his fist on the table dramatically.

Hitoshi shrugged. "It was alright."

Kinaru turned his head slowly, looking at Hitoshi through narrowed eyes and with a newfound passion. "Did I hear that correctly?"

"Silence, thot."

At that, Rumi lost her shit and Hitoshi cracked a quick sideways-grin before hurriedly pushing that shit _deep _down. Beside him, Kinaru fumed and Yasumi simply ate in silence with puckered lips.

"Zenni, you should be on my side for this one," Kinaru blubbered, gesturing wildly and looking at her with pleading eyes.

"Well, when you woke me up at four in the morning to cry over the ending, you only sent me pictures of…" Yasumi paused, beginning to choke on her words. "Really… really…" She face-planted into the table. "Cute! Puppies!" she howled, tears spilling over her eyes as her fists banged against the table.

"They're going through a rough time," Rumi whispered to Hitoshi from across the table. Hitoshi looked at them out of the corner of his eye while taking a sip of water, but when he looked back at Rumi, he saw that she was watching her friends with a look of endearment, her fist pressed against her cheek as she smiled with half of her mouth. Quickly, Hitoshi looked away.

* * *

At the end of the day, Rumi was surprised to see that Hitoshi was willing to wait for her before leaving—maybe following people around incessantly was the best tactic for making friends after all!

As he stood over her desk silently, Rumi frantically stuffed her things back in her bag before throwing the thing over her shoulder haphazardly, nearly hitting Kouji Sohai as he passed behind her.

Flashing an apologetic grimace his way, she noticed he still seemed fazed by his encounter with Miss Kora Lia earlier—his lethargic expression was a dead-giveaway. Peeling her eyes off of him, she looked at Hitoshi and beamed as she said, "Well, we survived another day, huh?"

Hitoshi snorted, saying, "Yeah, unfortunately," while they walked out of the classroom and off the U.A. campus.

As the two began the trip back home, Rumi decided to keep quiet this go around—after all, she _did_ force him to sit with her crackhead-friends earlier, and she could understand his desire for quiet after that encounter.

However, after a few minutes of silence, Hitoshi spoke up. "So, you want to be a hero?" he asked, eyes locked forward.

Rumi glanced at her feet before shifting her gaze ahead. "Yeah, I do. What about you?"

"I do too," he admitted, eyes downcast as they walked. "You said earlier that your Quirk is shit—don't do that again."

"Huh?"

"Don't degrade your Quirk," he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "If you don't believe in your own abilities then why should anyone else?"

Rumi's eyes widened before she looked down at her open palm. "Shit, that's deep," she muttered. After a moment, she continued with, "Your Quirk is super cool, just saying."

"Thanks," he said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. "It hasn't always been the best, but, it's mine nonetheless. You gotta work with you got."

"That's a very mature outlook on things," Rumi stated blankly, looking up at him. He glanced down and caught her eye briefly before looking askance and putting his hand on the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. "I guess I'm a little naïve, thinking that I'll be able to be a hero even though I'm not in the Hero Course, but… if you think you can do it, then so do I!"

"Wait," he said, putting his hand down and gesturing, "Who said I was going to stay in General Studies?"

Rumi blinked incredulously.

"Oh my god, Chouju, your obliviousness is a Quirk unto itself," he sighed, putting his hand back in his pocket. "You do know what's coming up soon, right?"

"Of course I know!" But she did not know.

"The Sports Festival, Chouju, that's what's coming up." She tried not to look surprised as she nodded slowly to herself. "Look, if I do well enough, they might consider transferring me into the Hero Course."

"Oh, that's cool," Rumi mused. Furrowing her brows and scrunching her features, she looked up at him and asked, "I understand why you want in the Hero Course so bad, but… isn't it a little too late?"

"It'd be even worse to give up, you know," he deadpanned, looking away. "And I can't do that… I must keep trying. There's just no way I can stop, especially when I'm this close."

Rumi looked up at him, a hint of reverence in her eyes. "I respect that, Shinsou."

He said nothing for a moment. "Don't you want to get in too?"

"I mean, it'd be great, but… I'm not exactly," she trailed off, and when he looked at her she made bodybuilding poses, flexing to the best of her ability. "I just don't think I can compare with the kids in the class, especially after USJ deepening the divide in our skills," she admitted, crossing her arms. "Haven't you heard? Even the 1-B students are intimidated…"

"Oh? So you _can _pay attention sometimes," Hitoshi joked, nudging her shoulder. Rumi snorted, looking pointedly at her shoes. "Still, that's understandable. But, I think that trying despite that will really make a good impression."

Rumi nodded, thinking it over in her head. Once they were on the train, the two quieted down and sat next to each other while browsing their phones silently. Once they'd made it to their street, they walked back to their homes.

Hitoshi paused before his doorstep, Rumi following suite. "Well, good luck with your training," he said, watching her reaction.

"Training?"

"Well, I can't be the only one from General Studies who actually gives a shit about the Sports Festival, right?"

For once, Rumi was quiet as she watched him. Then she grinned, almost a little too much, and said, "Thanks, Shinsou—same to you!" before running off.

Well, there are worse ways to end a school week.


	3. Chapter 3

It's not that Rumi hated to run in front of others, per se—it was more that she preferred it when not everyone within a ten-meter radius knew that she was fighting for her life after a brisk jog. Of course, if her labored breathing didn't send the message, the sweat pooling on her face and clothes certainly did. Thankfully, she only had to do this on Saturdays, so she didn't have to wear the thick blazer and tights of her school uniform while she ran.

With her dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail, she wore a sleeveless t-shirt that said "oof" in large letters, black leggings, and sneakers. Casual. In her hands were several two-gallon paint cans, and around her neck was a coiled towel. She was also dripping with sweat, but that was just the indicator of her Sick Gains. That way when all the passersby saw her, all they could think of was of how much bread she was getting and not of the fact that she looked like she was about to have a stroke.

Down the sidewalk, she trudged up to a squat building with a "closed" sign in front of the door in bold font. So, she kicked it open with a flourish. Mr. Kazuki Hashimoto, the leader of the small construction group, was standing beside a granite countertop and talking with a small older woman while his workers finished spreading a tarp on the floor and applying masking tape to the floorboards and edging. Her theatrics caught their attention, and once they saw her set the paint cans on the floor they grinned and said their quick thanks.

Twisting her core, she stretched her muscles from their previous strain. As she did so, Mr. Yoshiro Abe, the youngest of the workers that day at the healthy age of 32, said, "You've been workin' real hard today, Chouju! We appreciate it."

Breathless, she gave a thumbs-up and flashed him a passive grin. "I do try my best, sir."

"And it's plenty, child," said the woman, walking over to Rumi with her hands clasped in front of her. "Please tell me they're paying you well for your troubles, dear."

Rumi chuckled to herself, fingers brushing against her forearm absentmindedly. "Yes ma'am, they are," she said, grinning with half of her mouth as she spoke.

"We're also paying you in work-out material and motivation, kiddo, don't forget that!" shouted Mr. Hideki Fujita over the sound of the cans being ripped open.

"Speaking of," Mr. Hashimoto began, turning to look at the girl, "It seems that my workers don't have any water, and they've been working _so _hard all day." Rumi looked at the other four men, who smiled and waved at her from within the air-conditioned room. She sputtered while trying to hold back a good-natured laugh. "So, Chouju, want to get swoll, or what?"

"Please never say that again, old man," said Mr. Abe, rolling his eyes through a smirk. "I could mistake you for a boomer and you know it."

"Hah! I'm not even the oldest-looking one here!" With that, he looked pointedly at Mr. Ryuji Ikeda, who had said nothing thus far. The man merely looked up at him with lethargy, slowly blinking once. He was a college student—he started later than expected—which sums up his disposition well-enough. "This is why you stay stupid, my friend. School's added an extra ten years to your appearance."

Mr. Ikeda scoffed. "I never said I was smart—if I was, I wouldn't be working here." What a jokester!

"Looks like you're the real boomer here, Ryuji…" said Mr. Abe under his breath.

Mr. Hashimoto raised his brows and nodded to himself in contemplation before turning back to Rumi. "So, will you go grab some water for us, lackey?" he asked.

"Yessir," she said with a flourish, standing at attention. Handing her some cash to buy the drinks, he sent her out on her way again. Before she could step out of the door, however, she was stopped in her tracks.

"Wait, Chouju!" called Mr. Abe. "I think we left some of the paint-rollers back at the truck, can you grab them on your way back?"

Nodding, she said, "Yeah, absolutely," before running out of the building again, taking a brief moment to catch her breath before jogging down the sidewalk once more.

* * *

Fun-fact: carrying ten water-bottles and four paint-rollers is hard. Especially when you don't have a bag or anything, which Rumi didn't—the cashier at the store had apologized profusely for the inconvenience, but Rumi had assured him it wasn't a problem and she intended to live up to that statement. To accommodate for the lack of bag, she placed as many as she could in the front of her shirt, holding the fabric like a pouch with the paint-rollers tucked under her arms and the remaining water-bottles slipped into the waist-line of her leggings.

Running was a feat and doing so without holding fourteen items was already straining. Rumi didn't know how she was still alive.

While she was making her way downtown towards the construction site, she caught a glimpse of purple out of the corner of her eye—on the opposite side of the road, Hitoshi was cycling with a blank expression. When he noticed her, he lifted his hand off the handle-bar in a quasi-wave.

Now, social norms benefitted Rumi in this instance. Since her arms were so full, it would be acceptable for her to not return the wave—hell, she probably wasn't even physically capable of waving. But to hell if that would stop her from trying.

Lifting her hand as much as she could, she smiled brightly while waving at him once, twice, and then losing her grip on the paint-roller. As it slipped, she lifted a leg to catch it by pressing it against her torso, but in doing so not only lost her grip on the roller in her opposite hand but also on the water-bottles in the waistband of her pants. They fell on the concrete, and soon after did the remaining rollers follow as well as a handful of bottles.

"Shitshitshitshitshitshit," Rumi hissed at herself while awkwardly trying to pick up the items while simultaneously holding the ones that managed not to fall. It was not working. She looked like a contortionist street-performer who's very bad at her job—the contorting, not entertaining, that shit was funny as hell.

From across the street, Hitoshi paused to watch her struggle, an unreadable expression on his features. Was he responsible for that? No, no she didn't have to wave back at him, especially with so much enthusiasm. It would be socially acceptable for him to ride off and ignore her struggles, but… that didn't strike him as being very Hero-like.

And everyone knows that a Hero's real job isn't saving people, it's facing awkward situations like a fucking champ.

As Rumi fought with her own body to grab the bottles on the ground, she didn't even notice as Hitoshi picked up the rollers that fell behind her and stepped around to the front of her. In fact, she didn't realize he was there until he was holding out one of them and saying, "You dropped this," with a bland tone.

Her eyes trailed up his hand and landed on his face. "Shinsou?" she muttered, squinting at him. "What're you doing here?"

Furrowing his brows, he said, "I came to help you? People do that, you know."

"Ah, nice," she said, fighting with the water-bottles in her arms.

After a moment of less-than-comfortable silence, he placed a hand on the back of his neck and said, "Do you need me to grab any of that?"

"No, thanks, it's kind of my job." She tried hard to grab the roller from him, but the bottles made it hard to move her… anything.

"What kind of job makes you carry water-bottles and paint-rollers?" he asked through light chuckles.

"Only the best," she said, grinning. After a moment of prolonged struggle and consequent failure, she mumbled, "I might actually have to take you up on that…"

Hitoshi snorted quietly through a slight grin before pulling the paint-rollers towards him along with a handful of water-bottles. He pulled his bike alongside them as they began walking down the sidewalk.

"So, you ride bikes, huh?"

"No, I just walk them." They made eye-contact, and he had the expression of "bitch, please" etched onto his features.

Rumi pursed her lips and looked away before straightening her shoulders dramatically. "Y'know, not to brag or anything, but when I was younger, I could _totally_ ride without any hands."

Looking away from her, Hitoshi muttered under his breath, "Top ten things you can say during conversations and sex."

Rumi whipped around to look at him. "What?"

"What?"

After a moment of staring at him for a few seconds longer than usual, she snorted through a rising laugh and mumbled, "You smell like a baby prostitute," through pursed lips.

Scrunching his brows together and physically recoiling, he looked down at her with a confused smirk and said, "What the hell did you just say?" in a breathy voice.

"Oh, it's a quote from the movie _Mean Girls_." After a moment of him watching her without a change in expression, she added, "You have seen _Mean Girls_, right?"

He shook his head while pursing his lips. Rumi gasped dramatically, nearly dropping another water-bottle.

"You haven't seen the word of God himself?! That's sacrilege, an atrocity, a crime against humanity!" she spurted, gesturing to the best of her ability, and what she couldn't convey with her hands she did with her head and shoulders.

"Sounds like a chick-flick."

"It kind of is."

He made gagging sounds, and she kicked his shin with mock-anger.

"It's only the world's most-funniest chick-flick, thank you very much," she said with a pout and a joking tone. "It's peak American comedy."

"Oh," he said, his expression clearing. "That's probably why I haven't seen it."

"Because it's American?"

He hummed in response, nodding curtly. "I don't usually watch foreign movies, and I don't think I've ever watched a foreign chick-flick… Wait, I have actually, but it was only once and that was a _weird_ time. Those Germans have an odd sense of romantic comedy…" He then failed to elaborate. Rumi didn't have a response to that. "Do _you_ usually watch foreign chick-flicks?" Hitoshi asked after a moment of silence.

"Well, this one in specific isn't _completely_ foreign to me—I'm part American on my mom's side."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," he deadpanned.

"Why? Is it because everywhere I go the sound of freedom follows?"

"No, it's because you don't seem to realize how annoying you are to everyone else."

Okay, maybe that was too blunt.

He was almost worried he had hurt her feelings until she snorted and said, "Dude, I do too know how annoying I am, I just assume my friends don't mind." Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he saw her set her jaw firmly as he brows lowered, avoiding eye-contact.

Shit, she'd even used the f-bomb again.

After wracking his brain for a way to lighten the mood, he tapped her shin with his foot as she'd done earlier and said with a smile, "Oh, come on, Chouju, I'm just messing with you. It's endearing." When she looked up at him with an almost hopeful expression, he quickly added, "I mean, you wouldn't be you without it, so… don't call yourself annoying, okay? You're not bothering me, or anyone else."

The corners of her lips tugged down, and he couldn't tell if she was being theatrical or if what he said really meant that much to her. "Wow, thanks," she muttered, looking up at him with her big, green eyes.

"No problem," he said, his eyes flicking away from her figure.

The silence that followed didn't last for too long, because after a few moments of walking down the sidewalk Rumi said, "Here's where I work—well, not _here _here, exactly, I work for the people inside."

"That's usually how jobs work," Hitoshi muttered. She tried to kick him in the shin again, but he sidestepped out of the way while saying, "ha-ha" under his breath.

Once inside, Rumi shouted, "Honey~ I'm hoo-ooooooome!" with a dramatic flair. The burly men hooted as she tossed them their water bottles and set the paint rollers on the ground beside them. "I got some help from one of my friends, Shinsou. Sorry if I took too long to get here," she added, chuckling at herself as she spoke.

"Ah, it's not a problem, kiddo," said Mr. Hashimoto as he walked up to her and ruffled her hair. Looking at Hitoshi, he said, "Thanks for your help, Shinsou."

"No problem," he said, waving it off nonchalantly. Looking at Rumi, he said, "Alright, time for me to leave before this gets weird…er…" Carefully, he walked backward out of the door, picked up his bike, and cycled off back whence he came like a cryptic yet helpful goblin.

After a moment, Rumi clapped her hands together and said, "So! Who's turn is it to feed the stray?"

"It's mine," said Mr. Fujita, raising his hand as he walked over to a bag on the counter. When he pulled out a box and handed it to Rumi, she smiled widely and accepted the offer with salivating features. "My wife made it for you last night," he added as she opened the lid.

"It's wonderful, thank you so much," Rumi whimpered, food being the only thing she cared about in this life.

As she sat down to eat, Mr. Fujita continued with, "So, who was your friend back there?" while dipping the roller in the plastic tray filled with cream-colored paint.

"That was Shinsou, he's in my class. We recently started walking to school together because we take the same route," she said between bites of food. "Oh, he told me yesterday that a good performance at the Sports Festival next week might get me into the Hero Course—we're both trying to get in still."

"Ah, the Hero Course?" said Mr. Abe, glancing towards her. "Looks like you need to…train a little harder than usual, huh?"

Rumi paused mid-slurp.

"It's almost like we should…give you more work to do? You know, so you can bulk up a little more."

Rumi nearly choked, glancing back and forth between each of the men before sighing and putting down the meal. "I'll have you know this is child abuse," she said while walking towards the door. Before she could leave, the older woman, their client, called out to her.

"No, no, no, there is no way that you are going out running again. Take a break first, dear," she chided, guiding her back to the counter to finish her meal.

"See? This is how you treat children," Rumi said, nodding her approval while digging back into the meal. The men chuckled under their breaths before returning to their painting.

* * *

That evening, once Rumi was back in the comfort of her home, she sat down with her mom at the table to eat dinner, Rumi's favorite part of the day. Of course, it wasn't her favorite because of the awkward silence that would often ensue, but rather for the food.

Slurping the Butajiru broth, she glanced at her mother from across the square table as she was taking a sip from a can of beer while looking at the ground, no clear expression on her face. When Florence's eyes flitted up to see Rumi staring at her, Rumi quickly looked into her bowl while slurping louder. Setting down the bowl, she picked up the cooked salmon with her chopsticks and took a tentative bite.

"How was your training?" Florence asked, breaking the silence as she set down the can and picked up her chopsticks.

Rolling her eyes off-handedly with a smirk on her lips, Rumi said, "Mom, it's not just _training_, it's my _job_." When she cocked a brow at her bold statement, Rumi hurriedly added, "7,200 yen doesn't lie, Mom!" Another pause. "That's like… fifty bucks or something."

"I _know _how much it is, Rumi," she said indignantly. "Honestly, I've lived here since before you were born, I think I know my conversions by now…" Florence took a swig of beer. "So, how was _work_?" she asked wagging her head and looking at Rumi with wide eyes.

Swallowing, Rumi said, "It was good. I ran into my friend, Shinsou—the one who lives down the street—so that was cool…oh." She paused, her hand drooping as her brows furrowed. "Did I tell you about the Sports Festival?" Florence shook her head slowly before taking a sip of broth. "Well, Shinsou said that a good performance might get him into the Hero Course, so I think I'm going to try that too. I can't have him hogging the spotlight, can I?"

"The General Studies students participate in the Sports Festival?" she asked, halfway squinting as she spoke.

"Yeah, we just don't usually make it very far."

"Ah, I understand."

The silence returned, weighing down on them as they continued to eat. Rumi cleared her throat, shifting forward in her seat and pushing a grin on her face, "So, you are going to watch me, right?"

"Of course, Rumi," she said, chuckling into her drink. "But…as your mom, I have to get on to you first, okay?"

Rumi snorted. "I'd be concerned if you didn't." She waved her hand. "Say your piece, comrade."

"Well," Florence began, wiping her mouth on the corner of the napkin. "It's dangerous, Rumi. You could very easily get hurt, and you're going to be surrounded by people who are a lot stronger than you, and who have more…formidable Quirks."

"I'd sure hope that they have good Quirks—you know just as well as I do that mine is worthless unless I happen to be around someone cool."

Florence nodded slowly, eyes falling onto her plate as she pursed her lips

_Florence Sibley-Chouju—Quirk: None._

"But it's okay!" Rumi sputtered, regaining her attention. "I've been training really hard, and I think I'm going to do well! After the Festival, they'll be _begging _me to join the Hero Course."

"Don't get cocky, Rumi, humility never hurt anyone," Florence chided, though she was smirking slightly. "You sound just like your dad…"

Rumi froze. It had been exactly 28 days since her mom had last mentioned her dad so nonchalantly—time to reset the tally. It wasn't that they ignored him, per se, but more that it was easier to not talk about him, especially so carelessly. After the silence had trailed long enough, Rumi asked, "You're not worried, are you?"

Florence snorted. "I always worry—it's my nature."

"But you'll still watch, right?"

"Of course."

A comfortable silence fell over the two as they continued to eat. Once both of their plates and bowls had been cleared, they stood up and began to wash the dishes and wipe the table. As they did so, Rumi asked, "Where's Uncle Rob? I haven't seen him in a few days."

"Ack, you know him, Rumi, he runs on a different schedule than we do."

"Yeah, because we're just a couple of low-life's who could never understand his ways," Rumi joked, smiling to herself while rinsing their plates in the sink.

Florence hit her shoulder softly with the back of her hand. "Don't say that, Rumi," she said, turning to hide the slight grin on her face.

"What? Your brother's weird as hell, let's be honest with ourselves."

"Language!"

"I know! I speak two of them!" She hit her with the hand towel, and Rumi snorted under her breath.

While stepping into the den with her beer bottle in hand, Florence mumbled something along the lines of "oh my god" while taking a deep swig of the drink. Afterward, Rumi said her parting phrases and hid in her room, checking her plants and reading a chapter of a book before staying up on her phone and looking at memes until the early A.M. What else do you use weekends for? Sleep? Well, clearly not if you're here right now, just saying.


End file.
